


Valet Service

by Biscuit Lion (cookiethelion)



Series: Year of the Dragon/Comedian RPF Crossover [2]
Category: British Comedian RPF
Genre: Chinese New Year, Crack, Dog(s), Dragons, Gen, Master/Servant, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-24
Updated: 2012-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-30 02:09:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookiethelion/pseuds/Biscuit%20Lion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>23 January, 2012 - it's Chinese New Year, and Milton's forced to visit other Valets (did I mention he's a little bit more than any ordinary valet?). In fact, the only one he <i>doesn't</i> have to visit is Thom, and he's not looking forward to that meeting...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Valet Service

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Humphrey's game ("Lunch, Pet or Hat") on [It's Your Round s02e02](http://www.comedy.co.uk/guide/radio/its_your_round/episodes/2/2/), wherein Humphrey decides to have Milton as his household valet.
> 
> \----
> 
> Beta'd by Samurottsan  
> \----
> 
> 1\. **Valet Service**  
>  2\. [Do-It-Yourself](http://archiveofourown.org/works/329398/chapters/531504)  
> 3\. [Shadow Puppets](http://archiveofourown.org/works/332687/chapters/537393)  
> 4\. [Three Of A Kind](http://archiveofourown.org/works/347835/chapters/565322)  
> 5\. [Goats & Dogs (and a Dragon)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/367242/chapters/596962)  
> 6\. [One For The Enemy](http://archiveofourown.org/works/385254/chapters/630833)  
> 7\. [Leave In Summer...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/423707/chapters/708441)  
> 8\. [...Yet You're Here In My Fluffoughts](http://archiveofourown.org/works/456509/chapters/785402)  
> 9\. [World Is Mine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/493852)  
> 10\. [Hurting For A Very Hurtful Pain](http://archiveofourown.org/works/501077/chapters/879676)  
> \----
> 
> DISCLAIMER:  
> I own nothing except the plot and Zodiac Valet concept. This fanfiction was written purely for fun, and not for profit. Any persons written is not intended to represent the real person.  
> 

23 January 2012  
Humphrey was fairly certain he had told Milton not to wake him up before ten, but apparently that was not the case as he glanced at the clock, and saw it was still half-nine. He could smell his breakfast waiting for him outside, and he would have ignored Milton had he not been standing between him and the door.

“Good morning … _sir_.”

Humphrey was too used to Milton’s sarcastic wake-up call to care about it anymore. “I told you not to wake me up before ten –”

“Except for emergencies, and this constitutes as one.”

Humphrey reached for his glasses, and as he put them on, he saw Milton dressed in his usual; a wacky shirt and chinos under his brown footman’s coat. The only unusual thing he could notice was that Milton had done up his hair.

“If you’re going to tell me it’s related to your appearance –”

“This?” Milton pointed to his hair. “No. We’ve got a problem.”

“Oh no. Not this again.”

“Don’t worry –” Humphrey couldn’t have been more disturbed by how Milton sung those words. “– It’s not going to be like last time. I’ll be keeping my members out of this – including David. Well, I think we’re in danger.”

Pause. “You mean…?”

“As it’s Chinese New Year, Zodiac Valets usually become a little … relaxed about concealing our identities. That includes other master-bound Valets, and some like to … er, create some trouble which, if we’re not careful, will expose you and me.”

“Great.” Pause. “Who are we looking out for?”

“I’m worried about Tuck in particular.”

Humphrey blinked; out of all the names Milton could have told him… “Thom wouldn’t do anything.”

“Not until he gets drunk. You _know_ how alcohol affects us.” Milton gave Humphrey an extra glare.

“Ah. Are you sure you don’t want David – “

“I can’t, because I have no solid reason. Tuck hasn’t done anything, and it’s not like I can’t handle him.”

“…So why are you picking on Thom?”

Milton reached behind the doorway and grabbed a new bottle of wine. He handed it to Humphrey; he took it, and examined the top. It was still sealed. A gift tag was attached, but the only writing it contained was a drawing of a paw print. The drawing was too perfect for Humphrey to deny that Thom _hadn’t_ sent it.

“When did he send this?” he said as he placed the bottle on his table.

“This morning.” Milton reached into his pocket and waved several strands of tail fur. “Must have dropped it off himself.”

“This doesn’t actually tell –“

Milton cleared his throat as he put the furs away. “Based on previous experience, Tuck is the most prone to becoming drunk during this time, and Clause 3.11 states that any Valet found to be in a condition unfit for work is temporarily discharged. However, there’s nothing in there to prevent us from getting drunk – I could drink for a whole week every morning and afternoon, and you can’t do anything about it.”

“Right…”

“What I’m trying to say is, just be careful.”

“I think I should be saying that to you.”

“No, you need to be careful. Tuck can attack you at will once he’s off contract, and I might not be there to defend you.”

“Wait … why are you talking about this like he’s definitely going to come round later?”

Milton sighed. “It’s tradition that all the Clan leaders visit each other. You forget it’s not us who decides who goes where, and as it happens, this year, Tuck has to come over to ours.”

“Is anybody else coming…?”

“You’ll be pleased to hear it’s just Tuck.”

Humphrey nodded; at least the flat wasn’t going to be overrun with other Zodiac Valets. Milton, seeing as he had gone quiet, turned and was about to leave when Humphrey cried, “Am I going to see you at all today?”

Milton stopped and turned around. “Yes. You are now.”

Humphrey rolled his eyes. “You know what I meant.”

“No, not until at least six in the evening.”

“What? What am I going to do until then?”

“Keep yourself alive.” Humphrey looked at him. “You’ve survived for twenty-seven years without me, you’ll be fine.” On the contrary, Humphrey roll his eyes. “I don’t want to do this either, but our contracts insist we stick to formalities and traditions that our best-mates-forever ancestors started.”

“Alright, alright … sorry.”

“I’ve cooked your breakfast, and while you were out last night, I bought more food, and I also cleaned the place, all ready for you to mess up again.”

“Thanks Milton.”

“Right. I’m going, _sir_. I’ll, er, see you later.”

“…Bye…”

There was something odd about seeing Milton leave him, and for so long as well. He had always been there to ensure his meals were cooked, and his flat was clean and presentable, and that the fridge never ran out of food, and the loo was properly clean, and all his clothes were washed weekly … the more he thought about it, he really did underappreciate Milton at times…

When Humphrey glanced at a jar containing a marble-sized pink pearl, he was reminded that Milton was forced to be his valet for the next forty-eight years, perhaps even longer; he wasn’t going to start showing off his soft spot for him … especially when they were going to grow older together …

He was going to save the compliments for much, _much_ later.

As Humphrey lolled around his flat, he couldn’t help but grow irritated. Milton’s usual standard of cleanliness seemed to have dropped; whether it was under the sofa or down the back of the table, Humphrey kept picking up bits of litter or objects that had somehow managed to slip into those nooks. He was certain Milton was doing it on purpose half the time; for a start, there was no logical reason as to how one of his shirts could have tucked itself under the washing machine.

That wasn’t all though; Milton seemed to have somehow managed to jam the windows, and Humphrey, after what felt like hours of tugging, gave up trying to shut them. Instead, throughout the day, if he wasn’t going around picking up objects, he was freezing cold from the wind. Central heating did nothing to help, and when Milton returned at six, Humphrey bellowed at him non-stop for a greeting.

Milton stood through the telling-off without doing much, and when Humphrey was done, it was only then that he noticed Milton’s now-muddy hair had fallen flat, and his shirt buttons looked rather hastily done up.

“What happened to you?” he asked.

“Oh, you finally care.”

“…Sorry.”

Milton sat down. “I went round to everyone, and when I came back, I ran into Jack and … he, er, tackled me to the ground. Hence this.” He shook his head, and lumps of mud flung onto the sofa.

“Milton –”

“Sorry, I’ll clean that.” He leaned forward and grabbed a tissue. As he cleaned up, he added, “I also ran into Tuck on the way, and he mentioned he’ll be here at seven.”

True to his word, Thom _did_ turn up at seven. Compared to Milton, he looked more Valet-like in his white blouse, black waist-coat and pants, and indigo tailcoat. On his right middle finger was a band of paler skin, the only evidence of him having ever worn a ring.

He stumbled in while Milton was still opening the door. A heavy stench of alcohol wafted as he grabbed Milton’s shoulders, pushed him onto his knees and pecked his cheeks. He let go and leapt onto Humphrey, catching his arms around his neck and sending him to the ground as he pressed his lips to his cheekbones; Humphrey remained motionless until Thom got off him and caught sight of the wine. He strolled over to it, and flipped the tag over.

“Aww, you left this for me, didn’t you?” Thom hugged the bottle, and Milton sighed.

“Yes, we knew you sent it here to have it later,” he said. “No, you are not k–”

Too late; Thom had managed to sneak another kiss on his cheek. Seeing the look on Milton’s face as he pulled away, he said, “Aw, come on Milt, it’s Chinese New Year –”

Milton coughed. “I don’t care what day it is, but one, it’s Milton, and two, I am not going off contract.”

Thom rolled his eyes and pouted. “You’re no fun … as usual.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” said Milton as he retreated into the kitchen. “Don’t. You and David –”

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” Thom raised his hand-turned-paw, and his claws sliced through the foil. He unscrewed the lid and sniffed the wine. Satisfied, he tilted the bottle at Milton. “Sure you don’t want any of this, sweetheart? It’s fine stuff.”

“ _Don’t_ call me ‘sweetheart’,” snapped Milton. “I don’t need a drink. Anything you find ‘fine’ never is.”

“Alright, grumpy,” said Thom as he too entered the kitchen. He ignored the glasses on the table, and instead pressed himself against Milton (who was backed against the counter), their lips almost touching, as he reached behind the other Valet and swiped a glass from there. Milton didn’t dare move; Thom smirked, winked, and then walked out, though not without giving another glare that still held his smirk.

Milton raised his eyebrows, and shook his head, his hands gripping the counter tighter. He undid and redid all his shirt buttons, took off and put back on his coat, and was more than tempted to readjust his trousers and pants; the last time Thom had got that close to him, he had found a calling card slipped in his trouser pocket. Thinking about it, Milton did a quick check anyway, and, relieved that Thom had made no more advances towards his crotch, exited the kitchen.

Any attempts to stop Thom from drinking were fruitless, and although Humphrey did his best to distract him, Milton remained standing up, his eye on Thom. He was trying to measure how drunk Thom was getting … there would eventually be a point where he would be so drunk, he would have to go off contract – 

Milton flipped his clawed hands over, and his palms started to glow gold. Humphrey opened his mouth, but then caught sight of Thom; he was now properly drunk, Milton’s warning about him was coming back to Humphrey, and to his alarm, he saw that Thom’s palms had started to glow orange.

“Get out of the way –” said Milton as he took large strides backwards. “ – NOW.”

Thom moved first; he lurched at Milton, though it was more of a forward flop. As he got up, he was knocked over by a hurricane-strong wind. That didn’t stop Thom for long; he got up again and, now that he was more used to his drunken bearings, raised both hands in front; a fireball spiralled at Milton, who flicked his palms in response. Several gusts of wind ripped and extinguished the fire.

Meanwhile, Humphrey had found a shield in the sofa. He didn’t dare move away from it; Thom and Milton’s battle was blocking the way into the other rooms, and although he could have ran out of the front door, he didn’t want to abandon his Valet, no matter how tough and capable he was. He cried out, therefore, when Milton dodged Thom’s next move, and dived behind the sofa.

“Milton, what –” He said as he shook off Milton’s tails, which had draped on his knee.

“Don’t worry.” The singing voice was back. Another burst of fire shot above their heads, almost alighting the wall, but Milton clicked his fingers and a breeze passed them, carrying the fire with it and extinguishing it before it could come into contact with anything else. “I have it all under control. You must have got my hints.”

“What hints?”

Milton smirked, and then jumped to his feet. Humphrey heard Thom yelp and crash onto the sofa, before a particularly loud thud came, and the place fell silent. Humphrey didn’t dare get up straight away, and it was only when Milton told him to do so did he stand up.

Thom was slouched over the coffee table, unconscious. Humphrey looked around, but nothing had been set on fire at all; Milton really could handle Thom, it seemed. However, he was still baffled, and when his initial worries were over, he turned to his Valet.

“What did you mean by hints?” he said.

Milton smirked again. “Didn’t you wonder why I was so … _messy_ , today?”

It took Humphrey a few seconds to realise what he meant. “You were giving me a clue? All that bending down to – oh … but the windows, how…?”

“It _was_ fairly windy today.”

“Wind …” Now Humphrey felt bad for telling off Milton. He was about to apologise when he remembered how long ago it actually happened. He wasn’t going to bring it up again, even if he had been wrong … no, he was going to let it slip away instead. At least then he couldn’t claim he had been wrong in the first place. “Is Thom going to be alright?”

“Of course. He’s very good at recovering, so I shouldn’t worry about him at all. Now…” Milton tugged at his coat collar, readjusting it so that it looked straight again. “Back to work, I think.”

Humphrey watched in some admiration as Milton strolled into the kitchen; it was the same feeling he had when he first met him, the kind where everything seemed to fall in place once the answer had been revealed, and Humphrey guessed it wasn’t going to go away for a very long time. He wasn’t sure if he could go back to coping on his own without Milton.

***

Milton had been right about Thom; when he went in to the living room to clean up last night’s mess (a task made impossible with a guest sleeping in there), Thom had already gone, though the glass and empty bottle remained. In fact, the only reminder that he had ever been there was a calling card.


End file.
